


Seraphim

by libbywednesday



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Genderfluid Butters, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbywednesday/pseuds/libbywednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Cartman has come a long way since childhood and years of therapy appointments have done him well, but, with puberty comes self-loathing and, if he's determined to die young, then, goddamn, no one can stop him. But, it seems he's got a guardian angel and, biblical references aside, he's found a messiah in Kyle Broflovski who only hopes he can be the savior Eric needs so desperately. But will it be enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Problem With Prozac

Eric Cartman stepped out of the medical center, through the parking lot, and to his beat up truck, just like he had every Wednesday afternoon for the last seven or so years. At first, talking to a psychiatrist was uncomfortable and he resented every second of it but, eventually he was able to open up and found himself a much different person. But he was a better person. A less confused person. But a heavily medicated person.

It was a week until his eighteenth birthday. School had let out and the weather was beautiful. He knew his mother was planning a birthday party for him. It was supposed to be a surprise party but he already knew. She wasn't very good at keeping secrets. And, neither were his friends. Kyle was especially bad at it. He knew they hadn't even told Butters yet because he would have spoiled the whole thing immediately.

It stressed him out a little bit, honestly. He didn't like the idea of people making plans for him. Maybe if it had stayed a secret he wouldn't have felt so bad about it but he knew and it was kind of bumming him out.

 _“Maybe I wanted to make my own plans,”_ he thought, numbly, as he drove home. It was nearing five o' clock but he figured he still had a little bit of time before he had to be home for dinner. Dinner was about the only thing he was looking forward to, anyhow. His mom was making meatloaf and her meatloaf was awesome.

Deciding he still had time, he stopped at the Stotch household, pulling just off the road in front of their house. It didn't look like Mr. or Mrs. Stotch were home yet so he didn't want to block the driveway. Butters would be there, though; he knew that much. On Wednesday afternoons he liked to knit.

As usual, Cartman let himself in. And, as usual, the tiny bell above the doorway chimed. He rolled his eyes. There was a bell on every door, every window. Stephen and Linda would claim it was to alert them of a break-in but everyone knew it was to keep their son from going out without their permission. It was a wonder they didn't put a bell around the kid's neck.

“Hi, Eric!” came Butters' greeting from upstairs. This was a weekly thing. That, and, not many people visited.

“Hi, Butters!” Cartman replied, taking off his shoes at the entrance. He knew if he tracked dirt into the house Butters would be the one getting in trouble for it. Anywhere else he wouldn't bother but Butters didn't deserve that.

Upstairs, Butters sat cross-legged on his bed, propped up on some frilly pillows, knitting something baby blue that looked very soft. “This isn't your birthday gift, just so you know. I finished that last week!” he chirped, smiling, not looking up from his work. “This is a baby blanket for Mrs. Wakeling's baby shower!”

Cartman leaned in the doorway. “I can't believe a teacher invited you to her baby shower.”

“Mrs. Wakeling is the most precious woman on Earth and a brilliant Home-Ec teacher at that,” Butters retorted, “and I am so excited for her to have a little boy!”

“She pick out a name yet?”

“She's stuck between Tristan and Todd.”

“Those names both suck.”

“Don't be mean, Eric,” said Butters, glancing up, briefly, to give him a little scowl before dropping his gaze back to his knitting. “So how was your appointment?”

Cartman slumped down into a pink, oversized beanbag chair. “Same as usual. We talk about why I'm so fucked up and go over ways I could be less fucked up and then she jams me full of Prozac and I leave, the end.”

“Well,” said Butters, “you _are_ sufficiently less fucked up, don't you think?”

“I mean, yeah, kind of. But I still... I dunno.” He furrowed his brow and bit into his lip a little too hard before continuing, changing the subject. “I don't like the Prozac. It makes me nauseous and I can't sleep. The doctor won't take me off of it though since I've lost twenty pounds since I started it.”

Butters frowned. “That's one way to lose weight, I guess. That's not good though. You're not even _that_ big anymore!”

Cartman shrugged. He had definitely slimmed down a bit once he hit his big growth spurt that skyrocketed him to his current height of six-foot-three. He was still a big kid but now he was big in other ways too. He kind of grew into it. A lot of things in life take some growing into.

Butters thought for a moment on something to change the subject with and then perked up and his honey brown eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun that filtered through the lacy curtains. “Got any plans for your birthday?”

“I'll buy a pack of cigarettes and sit on the lake alone, probably.”

“Eric,” Butters scolded lightly but didn't say anymore. Cartman could tell that the others definitely hadn't told him about the surprise party yet or he would have spilled the beans just then.

Butters could never keep a secret, especially not from Cartman. That hadn't changed. But a lot had since grade school.

Butters came out as gay to everyone all at once in freshman year. He couldn't even keep his _own_ secret. Coming out to Cartman and the rest of the guys was one big, tearful, run-on sentence about how he was sure of it and he wanted to finally be himself and he understood if they didn't wanna be friends anymore. But it was fine. Butters would always still be Butters and whatever made him happy would make his friends happy as well. Shortly afterwards, Butters also came out as genderfluid.

 _“You can still call me Butters, even if I'm a lady sometimes! You can even still use the same pronouns, I don't mind! I don't care if you even call me a boy on days I don't feel like one! That's fine! I don't think it's how people react that really matters as long as I feel it inside, right? That's what I think,”_ he had said. And, honestly, Butters was adorable no matter what gender he was. And he was happy.

Almost everyone in school had crushed on Butters at one point or another once he started being himself. It was hard not to find yourself drawn to someone who radiated that much positivity and warmth, like a little ball of sunshine. Even Cartman felt that way for a while and the two almost-sort-of-dated for a very brief period before they decided neither of them were ready to commit to one another. It just didn't happen and probably never would but they were happy with that being the end of it.

Butters coming out made waves in the pool which was South Park's youth community. As the years progressed, more and more students found the courage find themselves, many of Cartman's friends (and himself) included. He, himself, wasn't really sure what he considered himself. He liked dick, that was certain, but he hadn't had enough experience with the opposite gender to know if he liked girls as much or at all. He just couldn't classify himself. He wasn't straight as an arrow like Stan or in love with everyone like Kenny. He was an enigma, like Kyle. Nobody knew what Kyle liked or if he liked anyone at all. He would insist that it wasn't anyone's business but that made the question even more daunting.

Cartman let out a deep sigh. “I'm tired,” he said, “I'm gonna go home and take a nap before dinner.”

“Stan and Kyle are coming over later to watch a movie. Do you wanna come? I asked Kenny too but he hasn't texted me back yet,” Butters added as Cartman rose to his feet.

He thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I'll be here around eight.”

Butters smiled that smile that could melt hearts. “Okay! I'll make sure we don't start without you!”

Cartman struggled out of the beanbag chair and waved lazily on his way out the door. “'Kay, see ya later, Butters.”

 


	2. Another Symptom

It wasn't quite eight in the evening when Cartman showed back up at the Stotch house but Stan's car was parked in the driveway so he knew he wasn't too early. Upstairs, Stan reclined in the fuzzy, pink beanbag chair while Kyle lay on the floor on his stomach.

“Losers,” Cartman greeted, leaning in the doorway.

“Eric!” Butters exclaimed, bouncing a little on his bed. “You're finally here!”

“Hey, Cartman,” said Stan, looking up from his phone where he was almost definitely texting his long-term girlfriend, Wendy.

“Cartman,” Kyle said, evenly, glancing at him with raised eyebrows and half-lidded eyes.

Cartman scoffed, flopping down on the floor next to Kyle. “Poor Kid didn't show?”

“Nah,” Butters said with a frown. “Ken's got a date, I guess. He said maybe he'd come later, though!”

“Lame,” said Cartman. “So, what are we watching?”

“We haven't figured that out yet,” Stan said, putting his phone away.

Butters scrolled through Netflix on his TV. “What genre do you fellas wanna watch?”

“Horror,” Cartman said, enthusiastically.

Kyle made a face. “You get such sick pleasure from watching people get killed in movies.”

“It's better than getting sick pleasure from watching people get killed in real life, amiright?” Cartman countered with a smirk.

Kyle shrugged and nodded. “Fair enough.”

They picked a movie that Stan swore he heard from someone at school was really scary and not lame at all. It ended up being a cheap thriller with a scattering of cruel and unusual torture scenes thrown in for the shock value but it ended up just being really gross and boring.

After the first gory scene, Butters had opted to hang out under his blankets with his headphones in and play Animal Crossing. Around halfway through, Stan had fallen asleep with his phone in his hand.

“That movie fucking sucked,” Cartman said aloud as the credits rolled.

“Honestly,” said Kyle. “I'm actually kind of pissed that we watched that the whole way through.”

“Wake Marsh up so I can bitch at him for making us watch that.”

Kyle tossed a few pieces of popcorn in the direction of Stan who was snoring from the beanbag chair. They bounced off his forehead and got lost in the folds of his jeans somewhere and Cartman snorted but Stan didn't stir.

“Butters,” Cartman said to the lump under the covers. “Butters the movie's over.”

The light from his game still shone through the sheer fabric of his comforter but the blankets were still aside from the even breathing underneath them.

“I think he's sleeping, dude,” Kyle said.

“Weak,” Cartman grumbled. “I'm going for a walk,” he said, heaving himself to his feet. “Not going home though. You coming?”

Kyle hesitated but stood. “Okay.”

The two found themselves across town, strolling between the tall, weathered buildings and concrete walls. Kyle was mostly quiet, kicking an old tin can between steps until it skidded under a dumpster and disappeared. He leaned against a rough, brick wall and narrowed his eyes at Cartman who tugged a rusty fire escape ladder down from the side of an abandoned warehouse.

“What are you doing?” he asked as Cartman started up it.

“Come on,” Cartman said. “I wanna sit on the roof.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “This is how people die,” he said, but followed him anyhow.

The building was kind of tall, three stories, maybe, but with high ceilings. From the roof, looking down at the alley, it was a little dizzying.

Cartman leaned on the small ledge that fenced off the top of the building. “Do you think you would die from here if you jumped?” he asked, suddenly.

Kyle crossed his arms but peered over the side. “I don't know. Maybe? It's pretty high.”

“I'm just saying because, in that shitty movie, that one girl fell off the roof of that parking garage and was fucking obliterated but it didn't seem that high,” Cartman continued. “I think this is higher. What do you think?”

Kyle let out a long breath. “I don't know, dude. I wasn't really paying attention.”

“I think,” Cartman said, “that you are terrible at conversation.”

Kyle seemed offended. “Okay, asshole,” he scoffed. “What did you want me to say? 'Yeah, Cartman, this is pretty high. If you jumped you would probably break your neck and there would be blood and guts and bones and all that shit. And, yeah, that movie probably wasn't realistic because it's a fucking Netflix original B movie that probably got an eleven point two on Rotten Tomatoes.' Is that better?”

Cartman blinked. “Yep. That's exactly what I wanted you to say.”

Kyle huffed and shifted his weight on his feet. “Unbelievable.”

Cartman stepped away from the edge of the building and leaned, with crossed arms, against the padlocked door that lead inside. “You're much more companionable when you're argumentative.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “That's a lot of big words for you. You feeling okay?”

“I'm fine,” said Cartman. “Just making conversation.”

Kyle leaned next to him and nudged him with his shoulder, gesturing up at the clearness of the night sky. “That's Mars, right there.” He pointed at a particular star. “And that's Saturn.”

“You would know that, wouldn't you?” Cartman said, squinting up at the stars. He pointed at the moon. “Hey, Kyle, what's that one?”

Kyle snorted and didn't answer, instead, watching a satellite pass overhead.

Cartman glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and jolted when he felt a familiar tug in his chest. “Well! This has been fun but it's time to go home now, forever! Bye!”

Kyle caught him by the back of his shirt as he walked away. “Wait, what?”

“Don't manhandle me, Kyle. I just remembered that I have to go home and never speak to you again.”

“Why do you always do this? You're not leaving me out here, in the middle of the night, by myself again,” Kyle said. A month earlier they had been at a party at Token's house and Cartman had said he was going to the bathroom and never returned. A month before that, they had gone to Walmart together, at three in the morning, and Cartman had taken his car and left Kyle stranded there. And, a month before _that,_ they had stopped at a fast food place after school and Cartman had stood up, silently, and walked out. It was beginning to get old.

“It's not my fault that I have important things to do,” said Cartman.

“Like what, asshole? This is why I don't hang out with you ever. What is your problem?” Kyle asked.

Cartman paced a little, running his hand through his hair. “You just freak me out a little bit, sometimes,” he said, shrugging.

 _“I_ freak _you_ out?!” Kyle yelped. “Hah!”

“I'm serious. It's your Jew magic.”

“Jew magic,” Kyle repeated, flatly. “Uh huh. Well, at least walk with me back to Butters' house before you have a panic attack and disappear into the night again.”

“I'm not having a panic attack,” Cartman said, denying the fact that he probably was, in fact, having a panic attack. He carefully backed down the fire escape.

“Oh, God, please don't fall and kill yourself,” Kyle muttered, following him down.

“I wont fall. I have catlike reflexes,” said Cartman, jumping down the last few ladder rungs and stumbling in the alleyway. “Ta-dah.”

Kyle sighed and shoved him forward by the shoulders. “Right. Well. The faster we get to Butters', the faster you can ditch me and do whatever it is you do.”

“Okay, run,” Cartman said, breaking into a sprint.

“You never run,” Kyle said, easily keeping up with him as they maneuvered through the backstreets.

“I'm running right now so your argument is invalid,” panted Cartman. “Parkour!” he shouted, attempting to leap over a trash can and falling on his face.

Kyle skidded to a halt and stood over him. “Are you okay?”

Cartman disregarded the hand extended to him and struggled to his feet on his own. “Yes,” he said, ignoring the scrapes on his palms.

“Dude. You're bleeding.”

“No, I'm not,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants. “But I'm going to literally throw up on you if you don't leave right now.”

“Why?”

Cartman shook his head. “Who knows,” he said. “You know your way back from here?”

“I guess,” said Kyle. “You sure you're going to be okay?”

“Yes. I'm fine.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“Why? What's tomorrow?”

Kyle shrugged. “I don't know. See ya.”

Cartman watched him leave, turning the corner onto Butters' street. His hands hurt and he felt nauseous but he knew where he needed to be.

  
  


 


	3. Questionable Advice

Cartman rapped at the cracked and chipped window with his bruised knuckles, quickly and quietly, waiting for someone to open it. However, when that someone did, it wasn't who he anticipated. He furrowed his brow slightly at the younger girl who looked down at him with sleepy, brown eyes in the darkness.

“Karen.”

“Eric.”

“Um,” said Cartman, “This isn't Kenny's room, is it?”

“No, Eric,” said Karen McCormick, looking amused. “It's the window to the left.”

Cartman frowned. “Okay. Sorry to bother you.”

Kenny pushed open the window next to him. He was shirtless and his dirty blonde hair was mussed with bedhead. “Cartman, you dumbass,” he said with a smirk. “We went over this last week.”

“You guys are always switching rooms. I hate you,” Cartman said, hoisting himself up and through Kenny's window. He landed on Kenny's mattress which sat on the floor, looking very messy and slept in. “And why didn't you come to Butters' house, you bitch?”

Kenny shrugged and sat, crossed legged, on the bed. “I had a date.”

“Oh, you did not.”

“I did too!” Kenny cried. “With that guy from Chick-Fil-A.”

Cartman snorted a laugh. “Oh yeah? How'd that go? Did he take you to Chick-Fil-A for your date?”

“Yes and it was fucking awful. Did you know he's a power bottom? I can't do that, shit, Eric,” said Kenny, shuddering slightly.

“Yeah, you're a fucking twink.”

Kenny shrugged again. “What can I say? But I let him down easy and came home and went the fuck to sleep.”

Cartman sighed and laid on the floor. “Weak. You should have come to Butters' house. We watched the worst movie in existence. Hillary Duff was in it.”

“Did she die?”

“Yeah, everyone died. Stan said it looked _so_ good and then he fell the fuck asleep. It was too gross for Butters so he hid under the covers the whole time and then _he_ fell asleep,” said Cartman.

Kenny laughed. “So, what? Was it just you and Kyle then?”

“Yes,” Cartman said with a massive sigh and closed his eyes, tightly, “and then we went for a walk and it was terrible.”

“Did you do that thing where you completely disappear on him?” Kenny asked with a grin, raising his eyebrows.

 _“Yes,”_ Cartman groaned. “That's why I'm _here.”_

Kenny let out a mischievous giggle. “That's because you're fucking in love with him.”

Cartman punched him in the leg. “I am _not!”_

“You totally are! He makes you so fucking nervous that you can't even hang out with him!” cried Kenny.

“He was talking about the fucking _stars,_ Kenny! How do you _not_ want to make out with somebody when they're talking about the _fucking stars!?”_ Cartman exclaimed, dragging his hands down his face.

Kenny snickered again. “You should do it.”

“What? Make out with him?”

“Yeah. Just kiss him right on the mouth.”

“Don't be stupid, Kenny. He's probably not even gay and even if he was, why would he want this, let's be honest,” Cartman grumbled, picking gravel out of the cuts on his hands.

“I think he likes you.”

“Don't lie to me, Kenny.”

“I'm not lying! Kyle's... weird... but he wouldn't hang out with you if he didn't like you,” said Kenny. “You're Eric motherfucking Cartman. You're a goddamn catch.”

Cartman snorted and laughed weakly. “Thanks.” He felt a pang of guilt in his chest and he wasn't quite sure why. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

Kenny seemed to notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Cartman said, shaking his head. “I'm weirdly... emotional.”

“Do you wanna go get food or something?”

“No.”

Kenny was about to comment on the absurdity of that answer when his phone began vibrating on the floor beside his bed. “Oh my god,” he said, picking it up and checking the number. “It's Chick-Fil-A Guy.”

“It's like two in the morning,” said Cartman, raising his eyebrows. “He's probably coming to murder you because you wouldn't fuck him in the butt.”

Kenny hesitated and answered.

Cartman aggressively rolled his eyes as Kenny ignored him. He drummed his fingers on the floor, impatiently.

When he hung up the phone, Kenny gave Cartman an apologetic glance as he stood and rummaged through his laundry hamper for a shirt.

“Wait, are you seriously going back out with him? Right _now?”_ Cartman asked, incredulously.

Kenny shrugged, sheepishly, dressing. “He wants to try topping. And I shaved my balls for this so I'm about to get laid one way or another, let's be real.”

Cartman groaned, dramatically. “Kenny, you're the _worst._ ” He stood and wiggled his way back out the window. “I hate you. I hope Chick-Fil-A Guy has a micropenis. And herpes,” he snapped, glaring at him through the open window.

“Come on, Cartman. Don't be mad,” said Kenny. “I'd be proud if you ditched me to get laid.”

“Is that some kind of dig about me not being able to get laid?” Cartman asked, squinting at him in the darkness.

“No, I didn't mean it like that! If you were like 'Bye, Kenny, I'm gonna go get my dick sucked by a hot person' I'd be like 'You really are my brother from another mother.'” Kenny pretended to flick away a tear of joy from his eye.

Cartman continued to scowl. “I'm not interested.”

“Unless it's Kyle, right?” Kenny said with a grin.

“Fuck you, Kenny!” Cartman shouted, a bit too loudly for the middle of the night. “Now I have to go sneak _back_ into Butters' house where _Kyle_ also happens to be. Great. Thanks for fucking me over, Poor Kid. I really appreciate it.”

Kenny sighed. “I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Okay,” Cartman pouted. “Tell Chick-Fil-A Guy that he owes me a chicken sandwich. No. Two chicken sandwiches.”

“I will,” said Kenny. “Bye, Cartman.”

Cartman waved over his shoulder as he made his way back into town.

 


	4. A Modern Disease

Cartman had realized, halfway to Butters' house, that, in order to get inside, he was going to have to climb through the kitchen window to avoid setting off the alarm and waking up Butters' parents. So, instead, he decided to keep walking around town until, hopefully, he found something better to do. That, or, the sun rose. Whichever came first.

The night was still clear but the stars had shifted in the sky and he could no longer see the planets that Kyle had pointed out to him earlier. The moon was still bright, though: a nearly full orb, casting a ghostly, blue glow down through the evergreens that lined this particular street.

As he stumbled upon a small park he felt a heaviness in his limbs that he was, unfortunately, familiar with. It was an eerie feeling that spread through his fingers and toes and nothing felt real anymore. Instead, it felt like his consciousness was trapped inside a fleshy prison and his body wasn't his own.

“Oh, balls,” he said, sitting down, abruptly. He really hated disassociating. It always seemed to hit him at a weird time like in the shower or laying in bed or playing video games. And, also, when walking around the sleepy town at night, apparently.

He lay out on the blacktop, stretching out the arms and legs that he wasn't quite sure were his own. Sometimes, disassociation felt like floating and he felt warm and peaceful. Other times, like this one, he felt dazed and out of it, like he was in a foggy haze of discomfort. It was unsettling and frustrating and he kind of wanted to die.

He was beginning to have some really dark thoughts when, suddenly, someone was hovering over him.

“Cartman? Are you okay?” It was Kyle. Of course it was Kyle.

If he hadn't been in some other reality at the time being, his stomach would have dropped and he would have spouted off some bullshit about how he was soul searching and definitely not thinking about going home and slitting his wrists in order to get Kyle to fuck off and go home. But, currently, he was incapable of doing so and, instead, muttered a vague “Uh huh,” and looked past him, at the galaxy overhead.

Kyle pursed his lips and crouched down next to him, concerned. “You sure you're alright? You look like you got hit by a truck.”

As far as he knew, Cartman thought that, maybe, he had been hit by a truck and he was actually dead and this was some twisted purgatory inhabited by only Kyle and himself. Either way, he got the feeling that none of this was real. He briefly considered taking Kenny's advice from earlier and just kissing him right on the mouth to find out if this was a dream or not. He quickly dismissed that thought, though. This didn't feel real but he knew it probably was.

Cartman sighed and blinked, slowly. “It's fine,” he managed. The chilly night air on his face and the feeling of the asphalt against his back were slowly grounding him and bringing him back to reality. This was his body. These were his limbs. This was his Kyle.

Kyle licked his lips, nervously. “What are you doing out here?”

“Dying,” Cartman said, matter-of-factly, beginning to sober up. “I was at Kenny's but then he left me to go get his dick sucked by Chick-Fil-A Guy and I don't have anywhere better to be.”

“Did you guys get high or something?” Kyle asked with a raised eyebrow and tucked his knees up under his chin.

Cartman felt kind of shitty that Kyle mistook his episode for intoxication but tried not to let it show. “Nah. I'm just feeling kind of off. Ya know? Sometimes ya gotta lay on the ground and feel weird in the middle of the night.”

“I guess so,” said Kyle.

“Anyhow, what are _you_ doing out here, Jew?” Cartman asked, leaning up on his elbows a bit.

Kyle shrugged. “Butters' parents were asleep and I didn't wanna wake them up.”

“Aha,” said Cartman, “Same.”

Kyle shoved himself to his feet and exhaled noisily. “Are you gonna ditch me again?” he asked, falling back into an old, creaky swing and rocking, slightly.

Cartman sat up, brushing down his messy hair. “I don't know. Maybe. I was kinda thinking about going home and sticking my head in the oven. But, you know. What else are you gonna do on a Thursday night?”

Kyle squinted at him a little but didn't quite know what to say. He never knew whether or not Cartman's self-depreciation was a joke or a serious cry for help. He wanted to think it was just an attempt at humor, though. “Cartman,” he scolded.

Cartman sighed. “I'll try not to ditch you,” he said. He stared at him in the yellow light of the streetlamp, committing to memory every freckle on his face. “You're better company than Kenny anyways. He gives shitty advice.”

Kyle snorted. “Gee, I'm flattered. What are you going to Kenny for advice on, anyhow?”

“Gay stuff,” he said, snobbishly, picking at his cuticles. “ _You_ wouldn't understand.”

“Ah,” said Kyle. “You're sure?”

Cartman's heart did a backflip at the idea but he scoffed. “Of course. You're B-F-F's with Straighty McHetero. And you know what they say about birds of a feather.”

“Hmm,” Kyle hummed, kicking off the ground with his feet and swinging a little bit. “Interesting logic.”

“Unless you're trying to tell me you're queer,” Cartman said, trying to seem nonchalant, raising his eyebrows at him.

Kyle frowned. “I don't even know why I'm talking to you.”

“You know exactly why you're talking to me.”

“Well,” Kyle huffed, sticking his hands in his pockets, “what do _you_ think?”

“I think,” said Cartman, “that you seem awfully confused for someone who thinks he knows everything.”

“I don't think I know everything,” Kyle said, indignantly. “I try to learn something new every day.”

“What did you learn today? Anything?”

“Wouldn't _you_ like to know?” Kyle said with a smirk.

“Humor me, Jew,” Cartman said, cocking an eyebrow and grinning, wolfishly. Sometimes, like now, he thought that, maybe, Kyle was flirting with him. Damn, he wanted to kiss him. Damn, Kenny gave terrible advice.

Kyle stared down at him with an attentive, inquisitive look. “I actually learned a lot today.”

Cartman scrunched up his face and pulled himself to his feet, taking a seat on the creaking swing next to Kyle. “That's a cop out,” he said.

Kyle shrugged and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Well, I can't share all my secrets.”

Cartman breathed a laugh. “Sneaky Jew.”

Kyle exhaled through his nose and looked up at the sky. “It's late, Cartman.”

“I'm not going back to my house, if that's what you're trying to get me to do. I might wake my mom up and she might try to talk to me.” He shuddered.

Kyle raised his eyebrows. “Then stay at my house.”

Cartman winced a little.

“What?”

“That's even worse because then _your_ mom might try to talk to me.”

Kyle scowled but then cracked a grin and stood up from the swing. “Come on,” he said. “Let's at least get something to eat. What's open at three in the morning?”

“You're asking me like I'm always out at three in the morning,” Cartman said, disdainfully.

“Aren't you?”

Cartman scoffed. “Well, _yeah_ , but I'm a busy man. I have things to do when I'm out.”

“Like what?”

“Like... Like...” Cartman bit his lip and thought hard. “Like keeping my hard-earned secrets from salty little Jews like you, that's what.”

“Oh, please, Cartman. I know you just shoplift from the gas station and smoke with Kenny when you're out,” said Kyle, planting his hands firmly on his hips.

“Fuck you, let's go to IHOP.”

 


	5. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating and I'm sorry this is so short! I've been really busy and super stuck on this but I wanted to post something so you know I haven't abandoned this story!! I'm still updating but I'm also working on a couple other Kyman fics that I haven't posted yet so I'm kind of getting ahead of myself in an attempt to keep writing through my writer's block! Again, super sorry for the lack of updates and for this update being so short!! Thanks for reading and giving feedback!! I love you so much!!

Kyle stared at Cartman from across a plate of blueberry pancakes. Cartman glared back, with pink cheeks, over the top of his slightly taller stack of chocolate chip pancakes. “Don't look at me.”

Kyle huffed. “Well, then don't look at _me.”_

“I'm not looking at you,” said Cartman, stabbing into the top pancake with his fork. “I'm just looking in that direction and, coincidentally, you just so happen to be in my line of sight.”

“What are you? Nine?” Kyle snarked.

“Hey, you're the one who _insisted_ we hang out in the middle of the night so don't blame me for your problems,” said Cartman.

Kyle chewed slowly and narrowed his eyes.

Cartman began to feel very put on the spot. “Maybe I don't hang out with you because you look at me like I'm your fucking science homework,” he grumbled.

Kyle opened his mouth like he was about to say something but promptly shut it and sat silently until Cartman spoke again.

“Things aren't like they used to be,” he said. He didn't quite know what he meant by it or if it was really a relevant comment but it was something that had remained unspoken until then.

Kyle concentrated on the table in front of him. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I know,” he said.

Cartman laughed, almost hysterically, for no real reason. “Okay, so shut the fuck up before I have an existential crisis at this fucking IHOP,” he said. But, regardless, he was really thankful that IHOP was a twenty-four hour restaurant because he really liked to eat when he felt horrible. Though, lately, that seemed to make him feel even worse about himself later. Right now, though, he didn't care and swiftly devoured his pancakes.

Kyle seemed thoughtful as he ate. Cartman had always noticed that Kyle seemed thoughtful in whatever it was he was doing, no matter what. It was tantalizing and slightly infuriating, though, he figured that just might be how he felt about Kyle as a whole. He wished things were the way they used to be and he wasn't slowly suffering as he silently pined for him. He begged himself to just get over it and save himself a whole lot of hurt but, unfortunately, his heart wasn't listening to that logic.

When he got home, early in the morning, after walking Kyle back to Butters' house, Cartman fell asleep quickly and slept well into Friday. He had slept almost thirty hours straight when his mother gently shook him awake.

“Eric, sweetie, you've been sleeping for a very long time,” she said, looking concerned.

“Huh?” Cartman said, leaning up on his elbow and squinting at his alarm clock. “Oh, damn.” He yawned and stretched and sat up, pushing the covers over his lap. He was still fully clothed from the day before.

“Are you feeling okay, honey?”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just tired.”

His mother pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead, taking his temperature with her palm. “You're a little warm.”

He flinched away from her. “It's just hot as balls in here, is all. I'm okay, really, Mom.”

The corners of her mouth turned down into a slight frown. “Are you sure? Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

Cartman felt empty but, still, he shook his head. “No. I don't need anything. I'm alright.”

Slowly, she rose, smoothing down her skirt. “Your friends were here earlier. They wanted you to meet them next door at Stanley's house when you woke up.”

“Okay,” said Cartman. “Thanks.”

As she left, he flopped back down on his messy sheets, fumbling for his phone. It was dark in his room from the blankets he had hung up on his windows to block out the light. A must for sleeping all day.

There were several texts from the guys: three from Kenny, one from Stan, two from Butters, and a whopping seven from Kyle. There was one from Craig Tucker as well but it was just a reminder about some money he owed him and he quickly deleted it.

Kyle's latest message was the first one in the queue so he read it first. It was a series of texts asking where he was and if he was okay. He exhaled loudly and responded with a “hey.”

Almost immediately, Kyle was suddenly calling him and his phone buzzed to life in his hand. Hesitantly, he answered.

“What?”

 _“You're alive,”_ said Kyle, over the phone, audibly relieved.

“More or less,” Cartman yawned. “What's up?”

_“We're at Stan's. You coming?”_

“I _guess_ so. Why?”

_“We're playing Smash”_

Cartman chuckled a little into the receiver. “What? That's it?”

Kyle scoffed. _“Well, sorry for thinking it would be more fun if you were here, dumbass.”_

Cartman was a little taken back. That was a new one. “A-ah, okay. I'm playing Little Mac. Please don't tell me you're playing as Peach again.”

Kyle let out an offended huff. _“Peach is fucking good. I'll kick your ass as Peach.”_

Cartman laughed loudly. “I'd like to see you try!”

_“Well, then get over here!”_

  
  


 


	6. Taking Initiative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, long time no see! Here's another short chapter I'm posting for The 12 Days of Kyman! Thanks for bearing with me! Love ya!

“Anyhow, how was Chick-Fil-A Guy in bed?” Cartman asked after a rather intense game. “Was it worth abandoning me in the middle of the night to get laid?”

Kenny shrugged and nodded. “Honestly, I'm gonna say yeah.”

“So he didn't have a micropenis?”

“No, he didn't, surprisingly!”

“He might still have herpes tho, so watch out.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kyle chimed in. “Are you guys going back out again?”

“Probably. I don't know if we're a _thing_ but I like him,” Kenny said.

Stan leaned against the arm of the couch. “Does he have a name or is it just Chick-Fil-A Guy?” he mused.

“He has a name,” said Kenny, “but it's a dumb name and I like Chick-Fil-A Guy better.”

“Did you tell him he owes me two sandwiches?” asked Cartman.

“Yeah. He said he'd give you three for solidarity,” said Kenny.

“Okay. Apology accepted.” Cartman looked at his phone. “Uh, I should go home soon.”

“Dude, you live _next door,_ ” said Stan. “It's not even that late. You guys should just spend the night, anyways. ”

“As much as I would _love_ to sleep on your floor, Marshmallow, I'm a busy man with important things to do,” Cartman said.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Cartman! You just slept for like two days.”

Kyle frowned at Stan and then at Cartman. “Don't go home just to go back to sleep.”

Kenny raised his eyebrows, suddenly. “Oh, hey, Eric, take a walk with me.”

Cartman looked at him, suspiciously. “Why?” he asked, slowly.

“Because I need to talk to you about something really important.”

Kyle frowned again. “What is this? Super Secret Time with Kenny and Cartman?”

Cartman huffed. “I _told_ you, Jew, me and Kenny talk about gay stuff and _you_ wouldn't feel comfortable around all this queer.”

Kyle opened his mouth to say something but Kenny cut him off. “We'll be back, okay?” he said, basically dragging Cartman out by the collar of his shirt.

“Okay,” said Stan.

“Fine,” said Kyle.

Outside, as Kenny trotted down the front steps of Stan's house, Cartman made a discontent noise behind him. “Okay, what the fuck?”

Kenny turned around to face him, bouncing up on his toes, excitedly. “Dude, I have the best idea.”

Cartman groaned. “Oh no.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kenny said with a wry smirk. He skipped backwards, in front of Cartman who didn't look pleased to be out here at all.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned. “Okay, speak if you must.”

“I'm gonna ask Kyle if he likes you.”

“WHOA, whoa, _whoa, WHOA,_ whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Cartman exclaimed. “You're gonna _what?”_

“I've been compliant with your whole 'I'm just gonna be miserable around everyone because I'm secretly in love with my arch rival' thing for like two years but, dude, enough is enough,” said Kenny.

“And knowing that Kyle thinks I'm disgusting is going to fix this how?”

“He likes you too, I know he does,” Kenny said. He was visibly excited and Cartman was apprehensive.

“How?”

“He's obsessed with you, dude. You weren't answering your phone and he wouldn't shut up about you. 'Do you think he's okay? Should we go check? I'm gonna go ask his mom if he's home,'” Kenny said in a surprisingly accurate Kyle impression.

Cartman blushed faintly but looked away, still doubtful. “Nah, dude...”

“Uh, _yeah_ dude?” said Kenny. “There's only one way to find out!”

“Don't go telling people that I have _feelings,_ okay?” said Cartman.

“Everybody knows you have feelings.”

“Disgusting.”

“Okay, well, I'm gonna ask Stan what he thinks.”

“Kenny, I swear to god, if you do I'm telling everyone The Poop Story.”

“I bet you everybody already knows The Poop Story.”

“Well they're gonna,” Cartman warned, “if you try and tell anybody that I've got a boner for the Jew.”

“You don't just have a boner for him. You have boner in your heart.”

Cartman scoffed. “That sounds like a medical condition.”

“Okay, but what's the worst that could happen if I ask around?”

Cartman looked up at the sky and sighed, ignoring the question. “I'm going to Butters' house,” he said.

“Dude, come on...” said Kenny, “Stan and Kyle are gonna be pissed that I let you leave.”

“Don't care,” said Cartman, starting away.

“Eric...”

“I'm not gonna sit around in the room while you ask Stan if he thinks Kyle wants my dick. We're like middle school girls, I _hate_ it.”

“So, what you're saying is that I have permission to ask?” Kenny inquired, hopefully.

“Do what you want,” said Cartman, “I don't give a fuck. I'll be at Butters'.”

\---

Butters was busy painting his nails when the phone rang. He picked it up, trying to carefully avoid smudging the pinkness on his fingernails. “Hello? What? No, Eric's not here. Why? No, I haven't heard from him, is something wrong?”


	7. Lost Little Boy

When Butters showed up at Cartman's house, Kenny answered the door. “Oh, hey, Butters. Glad you could make it,” he said. He looked tired and anxious. “I kind of thought your parents weren't gonna let you out.”

“It is pretty late, Ken, but I told them it was really important. What's going on? Is Eric in trouble?” Butters asked, nervously tugging at the fabric of his skirt as Kenny closed the door behind him.

In the living room, Ms. Cartman was sitting on the couch with tear-streaked cheeks. Stan sat next to her, his hand on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her. Kyle paced the room, knuckles pressed to his lips, deep in thought.

“We're going to have to go out and look for him,” Stan said. “He didn't take his car so he can't be too far. I'd say the police could help but, knowing him, if he knows the police are involved he's less likely to... well...” He looked up as Kenny and Butters entered the room. “Hey, Butters.”

“Hey,” said Butters, “so you don't know where Eric is?”

At the mention of his name, Ms. Cartman made a choked noise in her throat like she was going to start crying again.

“He said he was going to your house but then he posted a weird Facebook status and shut his phone off, apparently,” said Stan.

“He stopped taking his medication,” said Ms. Cartman, tearfully. “The bottle he got last month is still full.”

Butters checked his phone and, indeed, Cartman had made a shocking status.

_“i cant do this anymore bye”_

Kenny ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “Fuck, I shouldn't have let him leave, I knew something was up.” He turned to Kyle and touched his arm, gingerly and carefully, like he was testing some wild animal. “Kyle, are you-”

Kyle flinched as his fingers touched his arm. “I'm... I- uh...” He took a sharp breath in through his mouth. “I'm gonna go look for him.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No. We should split up,” Kyle said firmly. “That way we can cover more ground and hopefully one of us finds him.”

Stan stood up. “Right. Butters, will you stay here with Liane?”

Butters nodded. “Uh uh.” He took Stan's spot on the couch as Stan grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. By the time he turned around, though, Kyle was already gone.

Kyle had an idea where Cartman might be and he wasn't about to waste any time. It was harder to run with burning lungs and stinging eyes but, still, he sprinted down the street and down the back alleys.

The sky was black and the stars were hiding behind thick clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the air smelled of ozone and asphalt. It was an eerie night and Kyle wouldn't have been out under different pretenses but this was important to him. Cartman was important to him.

He rounded the corner of the storage facility and ran past a kicked over trash can that no one had bothered to pick up. His chest felt tight and he couldn't breathe but he kept on going until he came to a halt at the brick wall of the abandoned warehouse.

Without hesitation, he tugged down the creaky fire escape ladder and pulled himself up. The decayed metal scratched at his hands but he paid it no mind.

As he had suspected, there was Eric Cartman, currently hunched over the railing the bordered the rooftop, contemplating flinging himself over the edge. He was shaking with anxiety and felt like he might throw up.

“E-Eric!” Kyle panted. “Cartman!”

Cartman looked up, surprised at Kyle's sudden appearance. “Wha- what the fuck are you doing here?”

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here!?” cried Kyle, leaning with one hand on the steel door that lead inside the building, catching his breath.

“I... I'm...” Cartman gulped. “Go home, Kyle...”

“No!” Kyle shouted. “Just...” his voice softened, “just talk to me...”

“How did... you know I would be here?” Cartman asked, still looking down over the ledge, pensively.

“Just a hunch,” said Kyle. “What are you doing?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

“You know what I'm doing out here,” Cartman said. “Which is why you're out here. Why do you want to stop me?”

Kyle made an astonished sound. “Why do I want to stop you? You know exactly why I want to stop you!”

“Humor me,” Cartman said, grimly.

“Jesus Christ, Eric,” Kyle gasped. “I'm not gonna sit back and let you kill yourself!” That was the first time any of them had said it out loud. Cartman winced.

“I'm not worth your pity,” he said.

“I don't pity you, moron!” shouted Kyle. “I care about you!”

Cartman felt a pang of something in his chest. “Why would you...?”

Kyle took a cautious step closer. “Cartman, please,” he said in a soft voice, almost begging now. “I just want to talk to you.”

“You don't know what's going on.”

“I know about the psychologist, I know about the medication, I know you're not as put together as you want us to think you are...”

Cartman looked a little taken off guard. “How did..?”

“I've known you since preschool, you think I'm not gonna pick up on this stuff?” said Kyle.

Cartman frowned and looked down at the ground. The hard cement below looked both inviting and terrifying at the same time. “Just go away, Kyle,” he said but it came out sounding small and afraid. He wasn't sure when he started crying but it just happened. He gripped the railing tightly, sobs rattling in his wide chest, tears trickling from his eyes and off the tip of his nose, dripping down into the night.

“Oh, Eric,” Kyle exhaled, without falter coming forward and wrapping his arms around his middle, breathing out against his shuddering back. “I'm so sorry.”

“You should hate me,” Cartman whimpered. “Why don't you hate me? Don't you think I'm a bad person?”

“I think,” said Kyle into the soft fabric of Cartman's shirt, “that you're trying to be a better person and that's what counts.” Gently, he led him away from the ledge and back towards the bulkhead door. “Please let me help you.”

Cartman pulled away from him and sat with his back against the wall, still sniffling into his folded arms. “I don't like myself,” he said.

“I like you,” Kyle said, stooping down to sit next to him. He took his hand and squeezed it, gently. “You're gonna be okay.”

Cartman was quiet aside from the quiet sobs that escaped him despite trying his hardest to keep them in. Seeing Cartman this way made his own tears bubble their way up his throat until he was also crying softly into Cartman's shoulder.

Folded into each other, they sat there for a long while until Kyle spoke again. “Please come back home. I want to talk to you and I want you to be safe.”

“Okay.”

 


	8. You're Safe With Me

Cartman sat down, almost uneasily, on Kyle's bed, his eyes still red from tears, looking rather disheveled. “Can you- uh- not make me go back to my house? Can I just stay here tonight?” he asked Kyle as he entered the room.

“Yeah, of course,” Kyle said, sincerely. “Let me just call Stan and the guys and let them know you're okay. Okay?”

Cartman nodded, silently, chewing at his fingernails.

“I'll be right back,” Kyle said, gently shutting the door and letting himself out into the hall.

 _“Hello?”_ Stan answered. _“Where are you? Have you had any luck?”_

“Yeah,” Kyle said, quietly. “He's with me.”

 _“Oh, thank god,”_ Stan said. _“Is he okay?”_

“Uh huh,” said Kyle, “but he's just gonna hang out here with me tonight. I don't think he wants a lot of... you know? Commotion, I guess. Can you just pass on the message to the other guys, And to his mom, especially.”

_“Okay, I'll tell them that he's alright.”_

“He's alright but just... not emotionally okay right now.”

 _“I understand,_ ” said Stan. _“I'll let everyone know he's safe.”_

“Thanks, Stan.”

When Kyle slipped back into his bedroom, Cartman had his flannel jacket off and was inspecting his wrists with scrutiny. He looked up, startled, and paled a bit when he saw Kyle and hurried to cover himself up.

Kyle was suddenly right next to him, though, gingerly touching his shoulder. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Uh, a little,” Cartman mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Can I see?” Kyle asked.

Cartman hesitated at first but then held out his arms, shamefully, keeping his head down.

His wrists were strewn with deep, red gashes and scratches of varying depth and severity. They looked as if they had been made in an act of desperation with angry force behind each stroke of what was presumably Cartman's pocket knife. They still bled, rather badly, and the sleeves of his shirt were stained in a way Kyle hadn't noticed before. He gently ran his thumb along the flesh of his thumb before withdrawing his hands.

“I'll get you something to clean up with. And some bandages,” Kyle said, earnestly, rising from his spot on the bed, next to him.

“That's it?” Cartman asked. “You're not gonna yell at me for it?”

“Of course not!” said Kyle. “Why would I?”

“I don't know,” Cartman murmured. “The guidance councilor at school said that it was selfish and attention seeking. My mom agreed with her.”

Kyle was aghast. “Are you serious? That's awful!”

“Really?” Cartman asked, looking up with leery eyes.

“Yes,” said Kyle, cheeks pinking with anger. “I'll be right back.”

He left and quickly returned with a warm, wet washcloth, some antiseptic ointment, and a roll of bandage. He sat down next to Cartman again. “Here. Let me see.”

“You know,” Cartman said as Kyle pressed the cloth to his skin, “you don't have to do this.”

“I want to,” Kyle replied, not looking up.

“Why?”

“Because. I want to help.”

“But why?”

Kyle finally met his eyes. “Because I care about you.”

Bright red blush spread across Cartman's face. “Did Kenny-”

“Yes. I talked to Kenny. Well, more or less, Kenny talked to Stan who talked to me who talked to Kenny which seems like a real roundabout way to ask me if I like you,” Kyle said, smiling faintly.

“Well... uh... do you?” Cartman asked, his stomach turning over.

Kyle looked at him for a long time. “It's still not obvious?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Kyle sighed. “It's an 'of course.'”

Cartman's breath hitched in his throat and his heartbeat quickened. “Are you serious?” He knew Kyle could tell how nervous he was by the way his fingers were trembling and the way his pulse had risen in his wrist as Kyle wrapped it in a gauze bandage.

“Yes,” Kyle said, fastening the bandage tightly.

“Okay, well, I'm into you, if you couldn't tell,” Cartman muttered.

Kyle watched his expression. “Yeah, I know,” he said, smirking a little, starting on the other wrist. “Two years? Really? And you couldn't have said anything?”

“Well, longer than that, really, but I got in way too deep over the last two years,” Cartman admitted.

“Uh, same, I guess,” Kyle mumbled.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle, finishing up wrapping Cartman's left wrist. “Can we talk?” he asked.

Cartman gulped. “About what?”

“What's been going on, dude? Are you just off your meds or...?” asked Kyle.

Cartman shook his head and shrugged. “No, I guess it's kind of a premeditated thing. I've felt like this for a while and the medicine doesn't help and I've kind of always told myself that I'd kill myself before my eighteenth birthday and... I don't know...” He shrugged again. “Guess I'm just not happy.”

“I'm sorry,” said Kyle. “I know that me saying sorry doesn't help.”

“It does,” said Cartman. “I didn't think anybody really cared.”

“I do. And I'll do what I can to help, even if it isn't much.”

Cartman leaned his head on his shoulder. “I'm tired.”

Kyle kicked his shoes off. “Let's sleep then.”

Cartman lay back first and brought Kyle down with him, pulling him into his arms. Kyle wrapped his legs around his and cuddled into his chest. Cartman was warm and comfortable and, for a second, he almost forgot that he had tried to kill himself earlier in the night. This was what he had wanted for so long. And, soon, he fell asleep.

 


	9. The Morning After

Cartman woke up with his face nestled in Kyle's curly, red hair and he thought he was still dreaming. He inhaled deeply and caught the scent of warm cinnamon. Kyle was sleeping peacefully with his leg between his knees, arms folded neatly against his chest. Cartman reached out and pinched him.

“Ow!” Kyle said, jolting from his sleep. “The fuck was that for?”

“I was making sure I wasn't dreaming,” said Cartman.

“You're supposed to pinch _yourself!”_ Kyle said, flatly.

Cartman shrugged. “Oops.”

Kyle yawned. “Good morning.”

“'Mornin.”

The summer morning sun filtered through Kyle's curtains, filling the room with warm light. Kyle stretched and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

It took Cartman a second to realize Kyle was addressing him. “Oh. Yeah. I'm fine. Never better.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes at him, slightly. “Okay. What do you want to do?”

Cartman figured that he should probably go home and talk to his mom but the thought of that always put a knot in his stomach. “I don't know...”

“We can just chill out here for a bit, if you wanna,” Kyle suggested.

Cartman didn't say anything but nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Kyle got up to look for something clean to wear. They had slept in their clothes from the night before and he felt grungy and uncomfortable. He paused at his dresser, though, and spoke to Cartman without turning around. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” said Cartman, a little taken off guard and a tad bit anxious about those kinds of questions.

“Why did you stop taking your medicine?”

“Oh, the Prozac?” Cartman said, weakly, “I hate it. It makes me feel... not good...”

“Couldn't you switch medications to one that didn't give you such bad side effects?” Kyle asked.

Cartman sighed. “Apparently not...”

Kyle turned around. “Cartman, that's awful,” he said softly.

Cartman forced a laugh. “Yeah, well, I'm okay so don't worry about it.”

Kyle sat down next to him on the bed. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don't know. I just am.”

“Please don't pity me...”

“I'm not! I just feel like I should have done more.”

“Hey,” said Cartman “you're the reason I didn't kill myself so, like, that's pretty much the epitome of doing everything you can do.”

Kyle sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes. The silence wasn't necessarily comfortable but it wasn't tense. Finally, Kyle managed to work up the courage to lock his pinkie around Cartman's. It was a small but meaningful gesture. Cartman took his hand and ran his thumb along the knuckle of Kyle's index finger, gently. He swallowed hard, feeling his pulse pounding in his ears. He started to speak up but hesitated, cutting himself off before forming the first word of his sentence.

“Hm?” said Kyle, prompting him to continue.

“Uh,” Cartman said, suddenly forgetting how to make words come out of his mouth. “I, um...”

Kyle smirked. “Need help?”

“No,” Cartman scoffed, reddening slightly, “I know how to talk, Jew. I just don't know how to ask if I can kiss you without sounding like a huge fucking dweeb,” he huffed.

“Oh!” said Kyle, his cheeks flushing with color. “W-well, um-”

“Yeah, who can't talk now, dickhead?” Cartman jeered, grinning widely.

“Well, y-you can!” Kyle blurted out, blushing deeply. “K-kiss me, that is,” he stammered.

“Okay, uh,” Cartman mumbled. He felt like he was going to throw up. He suddenly knew why Stan was such a freak around girls in elementary school. He leaned in, slightly and their lips brushed against one another and it felt as if his heart was about to manually leave his body.

Kyle closed the gap even more and, suddenly it was a real kiss! A real one! With Kyle! The kind of boy on boy face contact that Cartman had been secretly pining for since middle school!

Never in his life had he been more happy to be alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this fic in so long for a simple reason: I changed my mind on how I wanted it to end. It was gonna be fuckin tragic but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I love these boys too much to ruin them in this fic (I mean, lets be real, I'm gonna destroy them in some other fic, I'm sure) so I decided that this was just a good place to end it. They lived happily ever after, the end.


End file.
